a quiet space

❀ nat ❀ she/they ❀ 18 ❀

[nattiesimps]

hi! i’m nat!

welcome to my blog! here, you’ll find just a dump of whatever ig (currently: Animals and Fairy Tail mostly)

there is neither rhyme nor reason with my posts so....!

THIS BLOG WILL CONTAIN NSFW WORKS, so dni with those works if you’re a minor (or an ageless blog)

anyway, enjoy! ♥︎

[johannestevans]

the thing is like. i get that it's scary and makes people who do desire to get pregnant uncomfortable when we talk about the brutality and violence of pregnancy and the damage that pregnancy can do to your body

but you deserve to give informed consent to that process.

the lies around pregnancy - that it's inherently safe, that it doesn't do you permanent damage, that it's only extremely rare for people to die of pregnancy complications, etc like

all of these are lies constructed so that more people will get pregnant w/o knowing all that

there needs to be more talk about the impact of miscarriages and how common they are, how different abortion processes are and how accessible they are

but also like. talking about how pregnancy fucks your body up should not be taboo

this is a process that permanently changes most people's bodies, and that's even if the pregnancy doesn't do them like. severe illness or injury

and i just think everybody should have a right to KNOW that

bc to live in a society that intentionally obscures and hides facts about a completely optional and dangerous process does so for a reason, and that reason is based in a very sinister ideology that does not value bodily autonomy or informed consent

[thelittleblackfox]

the number of people who are pregnant and don't know about what induced labour entails and what post partum bleeding is horrifies me

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Here is a story about the depths to which pregnant people are seen as a vessel for a baby, and the importance of finding prenatal care that assumes you are a human and not a baby holder:

When I was pregnant I was in a million forums for pregnant people because (cough adhd hyperfixation) and I had something called SPD (Symphysis pubis dysfunction) (not Sensory Processing Disorder though I also have that) which is where your pubic bones separate early (more or less) because they get all loosey goosey as your body gets ready to crank that baby out.

Except my pubic bone got confused and got misaligned at like 3 months pregnant. I could barely walk. I couldn't roll over in bed. Doing something that required me to shift my weight from one foot to another like opening a door knob was like an excruciatingly painful knife being stabbed into my pubic bone, I can't express how intense and blinding it was.

So I am in one million baby forums like "am I dying what is happening why is there a knife in my pubic bone" and all these people are like "I have that too! my doctor says it's normal and not to worry because it doesn't hurt the baby. I just deal with it by laying in bed for months in excruciating pain and think about how lucky I am to be having a little miracle growing in my body."

So lol nope. I went to my midwife and they are like, "Oh squeeze a can between your knees look up a physical therapy youtube on SPD" and I did that can-squeeze thing and it CURED THE PROBLEM in ONE DAY. I had been SUFFERING, y'all, it felt miraculous.

And I was so full of rage (flames, flames on the side of my face) that people are being told "Oh, it's NORMAL just deal with it" "It doesn't hurt the baby." Like, look, yes it's NORMAL but it's 100% treatable!!! SPD (again, not Sensory processing disorder) affects 1 in 5 pregnant people.

I was lucky to have amazing midwives (need a gender neutral term for that profession, but they see pregnant men and women)(side note highly recommend midwives if you are gender nonconfirming/a man/etc) and I have DOZENS of examples of shit like this.

(Another example is post partum friends being like "oh I am peeing my pants 900x day after giving birth" and my doctor says it's NORMAL so I just dealt with it for decades. My midwives were like "Oh that's normal and also physical therapy cures that in like 2 sessions")

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

When my sister was looking to get pregnant she was given the best advice. She was told that being pregnant is an experience akin to being in a moderate sized car crash, in terms of risk and lasting injury.

Some people in moderate car crashes are very lucky, and walk away with zero injury. Some are very unlucky, and die. But most people fall into the third category, where they'll be injured at the time, then heal, and then for the rest of their life they have some minor and liveable complication from the injury. Like a knee that lets you know when the rain is coming, or a back that doesn't like seats without lumbar support, or a shoulder that never quite gets its full range of motion back.

The vast majority of people survive and thrive, like. But their body is never the same again. And people should know that when they make the choice of whether to put their body through that or not

[haledamage]

my mom had a complication postpartum that caused pain and swelling in her left leg. at the time she was told it was "milk leg" and that it was normal and she'd be fine, but it never went away or got better. she finally found a doctor recently who was willing to do some tests and found out it's a condition called "May-Thurner syndrome" and had surgery to fix it

she's been suffering with this since she gave birth to me. I'm 38 years old. she had that surgery last week.

there needs to be more dialogue about the things your body goes through during pregnancy. "that's normal" or "everyone goes through that" need to stop being used to shut down conversations about the horrific, permanent damage that can be done to bodies during pregnancy and childbirth. just because it's "normal" doesn't mean it needs to be endured

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Here are Minnesota groups that need your help organizing against ICE and DHS operations

Here are some mutual aid groups in Minnesota that need donations and volunteers.

Food relief:

BrightSide Produce is a nonprofit fighting food insecurity by expanding access to fresh produce in the Twin Cities.

Calvary Food Bank, which is located less than one mile from where Renee Good was killed, provides food via appointment or walk-in.

Community Aid Network (CANMN) performs weekly food drives throughout the Twin Cities.

Community Driven delivers fresh groceries straight to homes. Its flagship Foodshare Program rescues surplus food from local groceries and restaurants then delivers it to local food shelves and soup kitchens.

Fey y Justicia specifically focuses on providing food to immigrants in Minnesota.

The Food Group is a nonprofit providing food to people in over 30 counties in Minnesota.

North Country Food Alliance partners with local farmers — primarily those who are BIPOC — to distribute surplus food and reduce waste.

Pow Wow Grounds provides food to Native American communities in the state.

TC Food Justice partners with grocers, co-ops, bakeries, farmers, orchards, and farmers markets in the Twin Cities to take extra or unsalable food and deliver it directly to hunger relief locations.

Second Harvest Heartland is Minnesota’s largest regional food bank, and a partner of Feeding America.

We The Gente is dedicated to providing Latino individuals and families with education, career guidance, essential resources, and supportive services. It is currently distributing food in Minneapolis, and will be providing rent and bill assistance, transportation, and long term support in the near future.

For pets:

North Minneapolis Pet Resource Center is currently offering human food, pet food, and vet care support.

Support Animals Left Behind is working to rehome animals left behind after ICE abductions. Donations should be sent via Venmo with the message "animal care."

Underdog Rescue is providing free pet food to families with pets who are afraid to leave their homes.

Rent relief:

Cempazuchitl Collective provides rent assistance to Native American communities.

Central Area Neighborhood Development Organization (CANDO) is providing Minneapolis communities with food, rent and transportation.

Cielo Sin Limites/Sky Without Limits is helping cover housing costs for those too afraid to leave their homes, and those whose families have been stolen by ICE, impacting their ability to work.

Colectiva Bilingüe provides support for families with children enrolled in Minneapolis Public Schools who are experiencing housing instability or financial hardship.

Collective Care Fund is specifically raising funds to cover rent expenses for refugee and immigrant families whose housing stability has been threatened as a result of ICE activities.

Powderhorn Park Neighborhood Association has launched a renter support fund for residents.

Rent Relief for MPS Families sends funds directly to rent, utilities, and basic needs for families in Minneapolis schools.

Rent Support for Bancroft Families helps cover housing and utility costs for families in Bancroft, South Minneapolis.

Washburn Cares is fundraising to provide rent relief and school supplies for Minneapolis Public School families.

Legal support:

ACLU of Minnesota provides legal support to those whose constitutional rights have been violated.

The Advocates for Human Rights provides free legal help to people seeking asylum, unaccompanied children, people in immigration detention, and people who have been victims of human trafficking in Minnesota, North Dakota, and South Dakota.

Immigrant Law Center of MN is a nonprofit organization that provides free immigration legal representation to low-income immigrants and refugees in Minnesota and North Dakota.

International Institute of Minnesota provides assistance to immigrants, including refugee resettlement, English education, workforce and leadership development, college preparation, and citizenship assistance.

Mid-Minnesota Legal Aid is a nonprofit law firm providing free legal help to people with limited resources, disabilities, and seniors 60 and older.

Southeastern Minnesota Interfaith Immigrant Legal Defense is a nonprofit that provides immigration legal services for those who live or work in Southeastern Minnesota.

[zer0zleep]

[milkandvoid]

[lorelune]

going to get very real here and interrupt the escapism of our niche here and say please please PLEASE keep your eyes on minnesota. keep your eyes on the twin cities and on minneapolis specifically. we are occupied by an unchecked force of 202X gestapo. our neighbors are being disappeared en masse. observers are being accosted. the only thing, AND I MEAN THE ONLY THING, keeping ICE at bay is the community of volunteers and layfolk that are getting up every day and acting bravely and loudly. this is politically motivated against minnesota (most reliably blue state in the union btw). what is emerging here is a state vs federal conflict. you can draw lines from there in terms of where this has the potential of going. PLEASE keep your eyes on minnesota. if you have a few dollars to spare, please consider donating to the minnesota immigrant rights action committee (MIRAC) or your own local nonprofits for immigrant rights. keep eyes on your own neighbors my loves. please be safe, stay informed and angry.

[mysharona1987]

[sam-keeper]

at some point, someone is going to fire back, someone is going to loot and burn a collaborator business, someone is going to take radical action, and you gotta resolve NOW to stand with those people, not denounce them as "outside agitators" or "feds" or "criminals". don't sell out your comrades.

[oomisluvr]

greek mythology au! sakusa x reader

SAKUSA AS THESEUS, retelling of theseus and the minotaur, original myth is changed to fit my narrative, mentions of death (the minotaur eats people!!), mentions of child marriage (ancient greece was sick), flirty and charming sakusa, hero!sakusa, 2.5k words.

the flowers were blooming early this year, speckles of color in the fields of green behind your small home. a sign of good fortune, the prophets of apollo had proclaimed, hard work will certainly be highly rewarded; the year of the bull. you grit your teeth and pulled harder, the weeds pestering your small garden uprooted entirely, their evil roots still gripping the flecks of soil that had nurtured them.

with deep reverence, you send a prayer to demeter, thanking her for an early spring.

sweat beaded at your hairline, curtesy of helios and his mighty chariot brining light to the sky overhead. it was just before noon now, with the sun directly overhead. collecting the clump of weeds you had uprooted, along with a few parcels of lavender, your feet carry you away from the forrestline and back to shelter.

inside your home lived your younger sister and father, your mother residing in the realm of hades after king minos had sent his navy to decimate athens. unlike most men in greece, your father was an honorable man, and his heart thumped only for his two daughters. though you were a girl, you were his eldest, and therefore his most prized possession in all of his lifetime. you were worth more than gold, in his eyes, more than any ore or meat or plant or man could offer. his pride and joy, a title you wore with honor.

lost in your thoughts, a series of screams tore you from your revere, the cries of your father to let her go, please! take me instead!

you hadn't thought twice before your feet carried you up the hill, powerful legs pumped full of adrenaline that pushed you to the forefront of your small home.

six cretan soldiers stood in the doorway, you could spot their royal purple linens from miles out. in their hands was your sister, tears spurting from her eyes like palace faucets, her arm contorted unnaturally under the pressure of the soldier's hands.

"let her go." you demanded, eyes aflame, "she is my sister, not a sacrifice. i suggest you find another family to tear apart."

you had thought your distance from the main city would protect your family, but the evil of minos extends everywhere, you suppose. once a year, fourteen athenian children are sent as sacrifices to feed the minotaur living under the cretan palace floors, trapped in a maze designed by the world's greatest engineer. there was no point to it, really, other than a cruel display of power, a boast to the world that one man could bring the great city of athens to its knees.

it was cruel, you know. to try and gift tragedy to another family, as if it were bread at a dinner table. but you would welcome the selfishness, just this once, if it meant preserving your sister's life.

"king minos was clear in his decree," the biggest one smiles down at you, his soul more rotten than his brown teeth, "seven girls and seven boys. your sister makes the last sacrifice. though, i wouldn't mind having her as my bride."

the soldiers laugh at his comment, their greedy eyes hungrily taking in your sisters figure. she visibly trembled under their touch, fear falling from her in waves.

you and her were different in that regard, the brutality of the world forging stubbornness and bravery in the chasms of your heart, instead of the petrefying fear that plagues your sister. you were not afraid of the world; you would burn it with your bare hands. if it meant preserving her smile, you'd destroy the earth ten times over; you'd set olympus aflame.

she's so young, too young, and terribly afraid of the world, not fully understanding what it means to be a woman or the shackles that come with marriage and children. she's already lost so much.

you clench your hands, stepping forward, muscles tense not from fear but from anger. poised, one might call it, in the way a mountain lion stalks its prey, ready to strike at even the smallest of openings.

"you will not touch her," you spit, harsh enough that the soldiers were unnerved, just for moment, "you will take me instead."

women were not protectors, you had been told, they are homemakers. gentle, subservient creatures to serve as vessels in aiding the next generation in conquering the world. you were no such thing. you were headstrong and unshakable, stubborn in a way that made men hate you, and you would protect what was left of your family with everything in you.

"it makes no difference to me," another soldier grinned again, wider and more terrible than the last, "you'll be dead before the end of the week."

in a quick exchange, your sisters life had been swapped for yours, the mark of death transferred to your head. you father wailed and hiccuped, you sister torn between shouting thanks and mourning her living sister; her only sister.

with the courage of a roman gladiator, you offer a warm smile to your father, and a gentle nod to your sister. it's okay, the crinkle of your eyes told them, take care of each other. don't forget to say your prayers. there's bread and cheese out on the table. don't forget to put it up after dinner.

with a rough yank, the band of soldiers marched you from your childhood home and down the way to the athenian port. there was no fear in your heart, you'd realized, only pride. your sister was safe and taken care of. the cretan solders never took from the same houses.

chin held high, you would sail from your home in athens to a foreign grave, and you wore your crown of death with pride. a bruise of honor.

as you approached the dock, you saw that there were more cretan soldiers than just the six escorting you, as there were at least forty more aboard the massive cretan ship and scattered around the port.

there, you saw the other sacrifices, six other girls and seven boys, perfectly lined by the shore, shackled to each other and teary-eyed. the youngest child was easily six or seven years of age, distraught and confused as to what was happening; to what would eventually become of his delicate life. with a sudden shove, you were pushed in line with them, the unexpected force knocking you on your knees. you feel skin break, exposing the soft tissue underneath, warm blood pinpricking the fabric of your lose clothing.

rough hands grip you by your shoulders, and you quickly lift your head to spit in the face of your assaulter. it lands right underneath his eye, and satisfactions burns in your stomach at the way it oozes down his cheek. cretian scum.

"almost. i'd say an inch higher and you would have really blinded me."

you blink away the haze of your hatred and take in his appearance. normal clothing, athenian features, metal shackles binding him to the other children down the shoreline. he was a sacrifice, you realized, and you had spit on him. his grip was so strong, you had thought he was one of the soldiers for sure.

but he was just a boy, easily the eldest of the athenian scarifies, but a boy nonetheless.

"i'm sorry," you rush to apologize, "i reacted too quickly. i thought you were a soldier."

his hands were rough to the touch, but gentle in nature, as he carefully helped you stand back to your feet, "it's quite alright," he wipes the glob of spit from his cheek, "if anything, i'm impressed by your aim."

at this you smile, "my sister taught me. she's the worst."

the stranger laughed, tall and broad-shouldered, but still soft in the face in the way all boys are. his clothes were dirty, his hands and feet shackled, but his skin glowed in a way that could only be described as divine.

the athenian people were distinct in their features, and there were no new faces in a city you've resided in for a lifetime, so who was this strange man, offering himself as an athenian sacrifice? athenian by blood but foreign otherwise.

"who are you?" you suddenly ask, speaking lowly as not to be heard by the patrolling cretan soldiers, "in all my years in athens, i have never met you, foreigner. you are not from here."

"well, i have never seen you before," he presses, "why is it that i am the foreigner and you are not?"

his quick remark catches you off guard, and you search for a witty response, "because i have lived in the heart of the city my whole life. i would have remembered a face such as yours." that damn glow.

the implication of your words are not lost on him. he wants to tease you, take your mind away from the metal around your wrists. "why?" he asks, "because you find me handsome?"

"because you are different," your face burns at his accusation, "you are unlike any man i have known."

"i thought i was a stranger," he says, "now you claim to know me?"

"i know enough," you huff, eyes pressing him for more information, "call it intuition." he smiles and you're heart nearly stops. you avert your eyes.

"i lived in the outskirts," he reveals, more serious, "as a fisherman. rarely did i ever find myself in the city."

you accept his answer, considering for a moment. the fishermen really only came to the city to sell their catches. it's likely that he simply sent a younger brother or apprentice to sell what he caught. strange, but anything was possible.

"why are you here then, if you aren't in the city often? and you are too old to be an ideal sacrifice."

"you have a brilliant mind, princess." he continues, noting your observance, "i was on my way to the palace steps, when i saw a few soldiers dragging a boy away from his mother. i traded myself in place of him."

you're at a loss for words. sure, you had done the same, but it was for blood, your only sister. this man, this foreigner, had traded his life for a stranger's, and still has the heart to joke and laugh about.

"i did the same," you say, "for my sister."

"i thought she was the worst?" he asks.

"she is," you confirm, "but she's still my sister and i am still hers."

it's quiet for a moment, your ears only catching the sound of poseidon's mighty waves folding against the shoreline. this would be the last time you see these waters, hear the ocean surrounding your motherland.

"it's honorable," he speaks suddenly, snapping you from your daze, "to trade her place for yours. to ultimately decide that her life was worth more." he turns to you, curiosity and adoration lighting his face, "what is your name? your bravery moves me."

"yours first." it isn't a question.

his eye catch yours and something like lighting flashed within them, offering a sly smile as if you'd solved his riddle, "i am kiyoomi, son of king aegus, and i have come to destroy that which ails my people."

laughter finds you easily, bubbling from your throat in dry chuckles, "athens does not have anyone to inherit the throne," your eyes narrow into slits, "and king aegus certainly does not have a son. why lie, with such little time to live?"

"you were right to say i was different from other men," he smiles, "but it makes no difference whether you chose to believe me. you will see soon enough."

his vagueness baits you, "see what? what are you planning? we will sail to crete and die under the palace like the multitude of athenian children before us. it has been the same story for years; there is no other ending."

"we will sail to crete, yes," he says, "but no more blood will be shed at the hands of that beast. i will kill the minotaur and return to athens as crown prince," he turns to look at you, "then athens will be free."

"how do you plan to kill the minotaur? you'd have to find him before he finds you in his maze of tunnels."

"you ask a lot of questions, princess," he chides, "and i'll forever be sorry that i cannot give you all of the details, but please, rest assured that my plan will come to fruition. athena is on my side, the battle already won. the fates have already declared it centuries ago."

the wind whispers comforts to his ears, that can be the only reasoning for the calmness that shrouds him. his inky hair curls gently at the movement. you want to believe him, and a small part of you does. he is different; perhaps there is some truth in his tale. you're touched by his declarations, the fires of his determination. he reminds you of yourself.

"my name is y/n, daughter of y/f/n," you say, and his eyes crinkle happily at the sound of your name, "and my father was a blacksmith. i am no princess."

"you will be." kiyoomi says, certain, "when you return from crete as my bride."

you flush at his flirtation, your body betraying you, "did the fates tell you this, too?" you snap.

"no," he says cooly, "i decided it when you spat in my eye with the precision of an archer. surely, there is no other woman for me."

"again, you have my sister to thank for that."

"i most certainly will," he clarifies, "when she dances at our wedding."

and with the blow of a horn, the fourteen of you are escorted onto the foreign ship, with the promise of death on the other side of the ocean.

you smile down to yourself, the metal binding your wrists feeling less heavy, less permeant. perhaps he is who he says he is: the son of a king, in the lineage of a god. maybe he can save athens. maybe he can save you. regardless, you have little else to lose; why not play into his tale?

"slay the minotaur," you say, placing one footing front of the other, "before you even think of asking for my hand."

"please," he playfully scoffs ahead of you, "at least give me a challenge. you're as good as mine now."

take this as my apology for disappearing :((( i fell out of love with writing, but i'm slowly gaining it back. i have some drafts i want to put out soon but this is my favorite :))) i hope u don't hate me im so sorry

[oomisluvr]

self reblog bc this is amongst my favorite things i’ve written ever 😭😭 i love this little story it makes me feel like my writing has improved

[oomisluvr]

greek mythology au! sakusa x reader

SAKUSA AS THESEUS, retelling of theseus and the minotaur, original myth is changed to fit my narrative, mentions of death (the minotaur eats people!!), mentions of child marriage (ancient greece was sick), flirty and charming sakusa, hero!sakusa, 2.5k words.

the flowers were blooming early this year, speckles of color in the fields of green behind your small home. a sign of good fortune, the prophets of apollo had proclaimed, hard work will certainly be highly rewarded; the year of the bull. you grit your teeth and pulled harder, the weeds pestering your small garden uprooted entirely, their evil roots still gripping the flecks of soil that had nurtured them.

with deep reverence, you send a prayer to demeter, thanking her for an early spring.

sweat beaded at your hairline, curtesy of helios and his mighty chariot brining light to the sky overhead. it was just before noon now, with the sun directly overhead. collecting the clump of weeds you had uprooted, along with a few parcels of lavender, your feet carry you away from the forrestline and back to shelter.

inside your home lived your younger sister and father, your mother residing in the realm of hades after king minos had sent his navy to decimate athens. unlike most men in greece, your father was an honorable man, and his heart thumped only for his two daughters. though you were a girl, you were his eldest, and therefore his most prized possession in all of his lifetime. you were worth more than gold, in his eyes, more than any ore or meat or plant or man could offer. his pride and joy, a title you wore with honor.

lost in your thoughts, a series of screams tore you from your revere, the cries of your father to let her go, please! take me instead!

you hadn't thought twice before your feet carried you up the hill, powerful legs pumped full of adrenaline that pushed you to the forefront of your small home.

six cretan soldiers stood in the doorway, you could spot their royal purple linens from miles out. in their hands was your sister, tears spurting from her eyes like palace faucets, her arm contorted unnaturally under the pressure of the soldier's hands.

"let her go." you demanded, eyes aflame, "she is my sister, not a sacrifice. i suggest you find another family to tear apart."

you had thought your distance from the main city would protect your family, but the evil of minos extends everywhere, you suppose. once a year, fourteen athenian children are sent as sacrifices to feed the minotaur living under the cretan palace floors, trapped in a maze designed by the world's greatest engineer. there was no point to it, really, other than a cruel display of power, a boast to the world that one man could bring the great city of athens to its knees.

it was cruel, you know. to try and gift tragedy to another family, as if it were bread at a dinner table. but you would welcome the selfishness, just this once, if it meant preserving your sister's life.

"king minos was clear in his decree," the biggest one smiles down at you, his soul more rotten than his brown teeth, "seven girls and seven boys. your sister makes the last sacrifice. though, i wouldn't mind having her as my bride."

the soldiers laugh at his comment, their greedy eyes hungrily taking in your sisters figure. she visibly trembled under their touch, fear falling from her in waves.

you and her were different in that regard, the brutality of the world forging stubbornness and bravery in the chasms of your heart, instead of the petrefying fear that plagues your sister. you were not afraid of the world; you would burn it with your bare hands. if it meant preserving her smile, you'd destroy the earth ten times over; you'd set olympus aflame.

she's so young, too young, and terribly afraid of the world, not fully understanding what it means to be a woman or the shackles that come with marriage and children. she's already lost so much.

you clench your hands, stepping forward, muscles tense not from fear but from anger. poised, one might call it, in the way a mountain lion stalks its prey, ready to strike at even the smallest of openings.

"you will not touch her," you spit, harsh enough that the soldiers were unnerved, just for moment, "you will take me instead."

women were not protectors, you had been told, they are homemakers. gentle, subservient creatures to serve as vessels in aiding the next generation in conquering the world. you were no such thing. you were headstrong and unshakable, stubborn in a way that made men hate you, and you would protect what was left of your family with everything in you.

"it makes no difference to me," another soldier grinned again, wider and more terrible than the last, "you'll be dead before the end of the week."

in a quick exchange, your sisters life had been swapped for yours, the mark of death transferred to your head. you father wailed and hiccuped, you sister torn between shouting thanks and mourning her living sister; her only sister.

with the courage of a roman gladiator, you offer a warm smile to your father, and a gentle nod to your sister. it's okay, the crinkle of your eyes told them, take care of each other. don't forget to say your prayers. there's bread and cheese out on the table. don't forget to put it up after dinner.

with a rough yank, the band of soldiers marched you from your childhood home and down the way to the athenian port. there was no fear in your heart, you'd realized, only pride. your sister was safe and taken care of. the cretan solders never took from the same houses.

chin held high, you would sail from your home in athens to a foreign grave, and you wore your crown of death with pride. a bruise of honor.

as you approached the dock, you saw that there were more cretan soldiers than just the six escorting you, as there were at least forty more aboard the massive cretan ship and scattered around the port.

there, you saw the other sacrifices, six other girls and seven boys, perfectly lined by the shore, shackled to each other and teary-eyed. the youngest child was easily six or seven years of age, distraught and confused as to what was happening; to what would eventually become of his delicate life. with a sudden shove, you were pushed in line with them, the unexpected force knocking you on your knees. you feel skin break, exposing the soft tissue underneath, warm blood pinpricking the fabric of your lose clothing.

rough hands grip you by your shoulders, and you quickly lift your head to spit in the face of your assaulter. it lands right underneath his eye, and satisfactions burns in your stomach at the way it oozes down his cheek. cretian scum.

"almost. i'd say an inch higher and you would have really blinded me."

you blink away the haze of your hatred and take in his appearance. normal clothing, athenian features, metal shackles binding him to the other children down the shoreline. he was a sacrifice, you realized, and you had spit on him. his grip was so strong, you had thought he was one of the soldiers for sure.

but he was just a boy, easily the eldest of the athenian scarifies, but a boy nonetheless.

"i'm sorry," you rush to apologize, "i reacted too quickly. i thought you were a soldier."

his hands were rough to the touch, but gentle in nature, as he carefully helped you stand back to your feet, "it's quite alright," he wipes the glob of spit from his cheek, "if anything, i'm impressed by your aim."

at this you smile, "my sister taught me. she's the worst."

the stranger laughed, tall and broad-shouldered, but still soft in the face in the way all boys are. his clothes were dirty, his hands and feet shackled, but his skin glowed in a way that could only be described as divine.

the athenian people were distinct in their features, and there were no new faces in a city you've resided in for a lifetime, so who was this strange man, offering himself as an athenian sacrifice? athenian by blood but foreign otherwise.

"who are you?" you suddenly ask, speaking lowly as not to be heard by the patrolling cretan soldiers, "in all my years in athens, i have never met you, foreigner. you are not from here."

"well, i have never seen you before," he presses, "why is it that i am the foreigner and you are not?"

his quick remark catches you off guard, and you search for a witty response, "because i have lived in the heart of the city my whole life. i would have remembered a face such as yours." that damn glow.

the implication of your words are not lost on him. he wants to tease you, take your mind away from the metal around your wrists. "why?" he asks, "because you find me handsome?"

"because you are different," your face burns at his accusation, "you are unlike any man i have known."

"i thought i was a stranger," he says, "now you claim to know me?"

"i know enough," you huff, eyes pressing him for more information, "call it intuition." he smiles and you're heart nearly stops. you avert your eyes.

"i lived in the outskirts," he reveals, more serious, "as a fisherman. rarely did i ever find myself in the city."

you accept his answer, considering for a moment. the fishermen really only came to the city to sell their catches. it's likely that he simply sent a younger brother or apprentice to sell what he caught. strange, but anything was possible.

"why are you here then, if you aren't in the city often? and you are too old to be an ideal sacrifice."

"you have a brilliant mind, princess." he continues, noting your observance, "i was on my way to the palace steps, when i saw a few soldiers dragging a boy away from his mother. i traded myself in place of him."

you're at a loss for words. sure, you had done the same, but it was for blood, your only sister. this man, this foreigner, had traded his life for a stranger's, and still has the heart to joke and laugh about.

"i did the same," you say, "for my sister."

"i thought she was the worst?" he asks.

"she is," you confirm, "but she's still my sister and i am still hers."

it's quiet for a moment, your ears only catching the sound of poseidon's mighty waves folding against the shoreline. this would be the last time you see these waters, hear the ocean surrounding your motherland.

"it's honorable," he speaks suddenly, snapping you from your daze, "to trade her place for yours. to ultimately decide that her life was worth more." he turns to you, curiosity and adoration lighting his face, "what is your name? your bravery moves me."

"yours first." it isn't a question.

his eye catch yours and something like lighting flashed within them, offering a sly smile as if you'd solved his riddle, "i am kiyoomi, son of king aegus, and i have come to destroy that which ails my people."

laughter finds you easily, bubbling from your throat in dry chuckles, "athens does not have anyone to inherit the throne," your eyes narrow into slits, "and king aegus certainly does not have a son. why lie, with such little time to live?"

"you were right to say i was different from other men," he smiles, "but it makes no difference whether you chose to believe me. you will see soon enough."

his vagueness baits you, "see what? what are you planning? we will sail to crete and die under the palace like the multitude of athenian children before us. it has been the same story for years; there is no other ending."

"we will sail to crete, yes," he says, "but no more blood will be shed at the hands of that beast. i will kill the minotaur and return to athens as crown prince," he turns to look at you, "then athens will be free."

"how do you plan to kill the minotaur? you'd have to find him before he finds you in his maze of tunnels."

"you ask a lot of questions, princess," he chides, "and i'll forever be sorry that i cannot give you all of the details, but please, rest assured that my plan will come to fruition. athena is on my side, the battle already won. the fates have already declared it centuries ago."

the wind whispers comforts to his ears, that can be the only reasoning for the calmness that shrouds him. his inky hair curls gently at the movement. you want to believe him, and a small part of you does. he is different; perhaps there is some truth in his tale. you're touched by his declarations, the fires of his determination. he reminds you of yourself.

"my name is y/n, daughter of y/f/n," you say, and his eyes crinkle happily at the sound of your name, "and my father was a blacksmith. i am no princess."

"you will be." kiyoomi says, certain, "when you return from crete as my bride."

you flush at his flirtation, your body betraying you, "did the fates tell you this, too?" you snap.

"no," he says cooly, "i decided it when you spat in my eye with the precision of an archer. surely, there is no other woman for me."

"again, you have my sister to thank for that."

"i most certainly will," he clarifies, "when she dances at our wedding."

and with the blow of a horn, the fourteen of you are escorted onto the foreign ship, with the promise of death on the other side of the ocean.

you smile down to yourself, the metal binding your wrists feeling less heavy, less permeant. perhaps he is who he says he is: the son of a king, in the lineage of a god. maybe he can save athens. maybe he can save you. regardless, you have little else to lose; why not play into his tale?

"slay the minotaur," you say, placing one footing front of the other, "before you even think of asking for my hand."

"please," he playfully scoffs ahead of you, "at least give me a challenge. you're as good as mine now."

take this as my apology for disappearing :((( i fell out of love with writing, but i'm slowly gaining it back. i have some drafts i want to put out soon but this is my favorite :))) i hope u don't hate me im so sorry

[oomisluvr]

self reblog bc this is amongst my favorite things i’ve written ever 😭😭 i love this little story it makes me feel like my writing has improved

[cupcraft]

Do you want to be politically pure in theory or help your neighbor. Is it fruitless to help your neighbor because there's no Perfect Pure way to do it ?

[kingxanthesecond]

Honestly I would rather be politically pure. Your neighbors would never help you, so why help them?

[cupcraft]

Youre who this post is talking about. Individualism and elitism is not going to help the revolution and grassroots activism and mutual aid.

[gean-grey-blog]

When the pandemic hit this old church lady joined our tattooed queer leftist mutual aid group bc her church soup kitchen closed. We shrugged and told her she was welcome as long as she didn't proselytize.

That woman never gendered me right once, but she shut up about Jesus long enough to feed people next to us bc she cared more about action than ideology. She also had a whole network of other church people who helped contribute $ to ingredients. We provided more and better meals together than in our "correct" silos

That's how any of us get out of any of this

[flipocrite]

Honestly if someone doesn’t care about helping their neighbor I recoil from the thought of what their “pure” politics might look like.

Keeping things pure, indeed.

[roach-works]

what is the POINT of your politics if you won't even help your neighbor?

[oomisluvr]

D8 NITE

♡ SYNOPSIS: tonight's date night! if only you two could make it out the front door…

♡ WARNINGS/TAGS: domestic!husband!kiyoomi, very suggestive but nothing explicit – y/n and oomi can’t keep their grubby little hands off each other, mentions of sex, vibes of falling deeper in love with your spouse everyday, reader wears a dress and heels, swearing i think, honestly just brainrot of kiyoomi in a suit so it's not super edited, 1.2k words!

“Are you ready?” KIYOOMI calls from your living room.

When you first got married, the two of you set hard rules. Boundaries and preferences and non-negotiables to make you both better life-partners. 

And so, Kiyoomi cooks because you hate cooking. In return, you do the dishes. You’d rather lose a finger than perform the menial chore of folding laundry every week, but Kiyoomi loves the routine of it all. Grocery shopping is a two-person task, and Kiyoomi pushes the cart while you tick through the list.

“Almost!” You call back, quickly spritzing a delicate perfume on your pulse points and grabbing your heels from the closet. “Twenty seconds!”

And, on a more romantic note, you two promised date nights every week. A relatively flexible but ultimately non-negotiable requirement to a happy marriage. 

“You don’t have to rush,” Kiyoomi’s voice becomes louder as you exit your shared bedroom, stumbling a bit as you attempt to pull on your heels while walking, “Our reservations aren’t for another forty-five minutes–”

“No, no!” You give up on the heels after a few moments of struggle, grabbing them by the straps and rounding the corner to the living room, “I’m ready, just let me get my coat and we can–”

Your eyes cut to your husband just as he looks up from his watch, sitting patiently on the couch as you get ready. 

Kiyoomi’s always been handsome, but seeing him dressed up like this always leaves you a bit starstruck. He’s the kind of beauty that artists incase in marble. You seem to have the same effect on him, and Kiyoomi lets out a low whistle of appreciation when he sees you.

“Damn.” He stands to greet you, reaching for your hands and threading his fingers in the spaces between yours. The tips of his ears are dusted the lightest shade of pink, “How’d I get so lucky?”

Your smile turns into a laugh when he plants a kiss on the back of your hand, “You’re too much.”

Finding time for one another has been tough lately, made even worse by Kiyoomi’s consistent traveling, and so the little time that you are able to spend together… is not exactly spent on traditional date nights.

“I can’t help it.” He sighs, lovestruck and dazed, “You look amazing. I think we’ll have to stay in tonight.”

“Oomi!”

“How can you possibly expect me to leave when you look this good?” He says, “The second you put on that dress, I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Enough,” You laugh, but don’t pull away, “We always do this! We haven’t been on a date in weeks!”

“Not true. We have dates all the time.” He explains, “We just… spend a substantial amount of the date in bed. Or on the couch. Or on the kitchen counter. Sometimes on the balcony–”

“Marathon sex is not a date.”

“Maybe not traditionally,” He shrugs, a sly grin on his face, “But we always have a good time, don’t we?”

The look you give Kiyoomi would send a lesser man running.

(He tries not to think about how hot it is).

“We are going to this restaurant.” You declare coldly, pressing a manicured finger to the center of his chest to force him back. “Now help me put my shoes on, please.”

Kiyoomi caves easily, bending to one knee as you take a seat on the edge of the sofa. He makes quick work sliding the heels onto your foot, fumbling with the clasps a bit before successfully securing the extra fabric to your ankle. A kiss follows, just because he can.

“You’re so spoiled.” He mumbles to get a reaction out of you. You fall for it anyways. You’ve been with Kiyoomi long enough to recognize bickering as his love language.

“Yeah? Well, you like spoiling me.”

You reach out a hand to run your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face to meet his eyes. He turns his head to press a kiss against your palm, seizing every chance to revel in your attention. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Finishing the other shoe, he glances up, catching your eyes.

“All done.” He stays kneeled before you, massaging the muscles of your calves in relaxing, rhythmic circles. 

Neither of you budge. Kiyoomi continues to admire you like an artist beholding his muse. The sight of him kneeled between your legs is vaguely reminiscent of… similar positions he’s been in before. Other positions where you’re pressed into the mattress, trembling and shaking at everything he’s giving you. Positions with his head nestled deep between your thighs, fingers moving in tight circles and using just the right amount of pressure to make you–

“Thanks,” You breathe, your restraint threadbare. It wanes with every passing second, “Now all we have to do is make it out the door.”

“Right.” Kiyoomi subtly adjusts your legs around him, placing himself directly between them. 

“–So we can make it to our reservations on time.” Your throat runs dry at the feeling of him toying with the hem of your dress, just barely pushing back the fabric to allow himself to get even closer to you. He nods politely at your words, wholly entertained by this little game the two of you are playing.

“Yep.”

“–Because you called months ago to get us a spot and it would be a waste to throw it away.”

“Well,” Kiyoomi prompts unhelpfully, “Not necessarily. I could always just make another reservation, you know.”

You bite your lip, considering the options. The mischievous glint in Kiyoomi's eyes makes you suspicious. He’s such an asshole, making you beg for something you both want.

Your restraint falters, then breaks.

“We can’t keep doing this.” You sigh, cupping the back of Kiyoomi's head to pull him into a kiss. 

You feel him smile against your lips, “We most certainly can.” 

“You aren’t helping.”

“I’m not trying to be helpful.” Kiyoomi knows he’s being a little mean, but a sick part of him gets so much enjoyment at the cute sounds you make when you’re flustered, “You don’t have to be embarrassed, love.”

You push him away for a moment, your hands still tightly clenching the fabric of his shirt threateningly. You put on your most intimidating look. Kiyoomi raises a brow curiously, remnants of your lipstick smeared on his pretty pale face, “You’re taking me on a date tomorrow morning. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” He says sarcastically, and you can hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. He moves to kiss you again, voice dropping to a low groan, “Whatever you want.”

yall do in fact get breakfast the next morning okay kiyoomi is a man of his word!! he’s literally ur bitch tho lololl

love as always, niko ♡

[dailycatsblog]

[thefairytaler]

some of you guys are going to have to start internalizing and accepting the fact that you will not be able to tell some indigenous people apart from white people at a glance, no matter what their 'blood quantum' [gag] is, partially because genetics is wild, and partially because there are indigenous groups that are naturally paler than whatever you're thinking right now.

[chilipowder9]

I'm not in the know like at all when it comes to indigenous things, may I ask why the "[gag]" with every "blood quantum"

[thefairytaler]

Yeah no worries!

Blood quantum is a nightmare concept. It is essentially how much 'native blood' you 'legally' have according to the government.

It is not traditional, it is not cultural, it is not something Indigenous nations ever used to measure belonging.

It was created by colonizers as a tool of erasure. It literally exists so the government could mathematically subtract us out of existence over time.

Think of it like this;

instead of letting Indigenous communities define ourselves, the U.S. government came in and said, “Your Indigeneity is only valid if we can quantify it like livestock breeding papers.” It was meant to break apart families, stop us from passing on identity and land rights, and eventually reach a point where they could say, “See, there are no real Indigenous people left! So we don't need to think about them!"

It weaponizes nebulous and often finicky genetics against culture, community, lived experience, etc.

It ignores the fact that Indigenous identity is about kinship, belonging, survival, language, tradition, and responsibility to our people.

Blood quantum turns those things into a number. A number designed to shrink until there is nothing left.

Many nations are still stuck dealing with blood quantum rules because of federal pressure and resource control, not because we chose it or approve of it.

And it harms us every single generation. It pits relatives against each other, creates disenrollment fights, and tells half of Indigenous kids they are somehow less real than their siblings because of paperwork.

It also lets the government give a 'good reason' for why we shouldn't have mixed race marriages or 'interbreed' with other races, because then the blood quantum 'goes down' and we may legally not be considered indigenous under the government anymore, which means they can deny us things like certain assistance programs, medical care, etc.

It's literally government mandated eugenics.

In short, it is is a colonial tool invented by the government to eliminate us. Which is why I gag when I say it.

[bdalak]

the more i talk w/ leftist friends the more i start to realize that they think culture is only defined by food or "traditional" (i.e. "ethnic") garb and nothing else

mentioned how white americans do in fact have a common culture and they genuinely thought i was joking. culture isnt something only granted to the Cool People of Color. just feels like among progressive groups there's this dichotomy created in which only the virtuous oppressed minorities have culture and anyone who is privileged some sort of void cultureless being

[ceilidhtransing]

As someone with a background in anthropology, culture is everything and everywhere. It's so all-encompassing it's hard to even wrap your head around. Everything you do, say, think, eat, wear is wrapped up in culture. Even being deliberately counter-cultural, by consciously defying the expectations of your culture, is still an engagement with culture (often by adopting a sub-culture).

Sure, it's the “simple”, “surface-level” things that people tend to think of, like

In your culture, how many meals a day are you generally expected to eat, and when are you expected to eat them?

In your culture, which clothes are considered “formal”, and when would you wear such clothes?

But it's also so much more:

If you were dating someone, at what point in the relationship would you be expected to introduce them to your parents? That's culture!

How much respect is given to artists? Are people like poets or musicians revered as an integral part of society, or is the predominant attitude “get a real job”? That's culture!

How much value is given to education? What's considered more socially embarrassing - academic failure, or academic achievement? What's the intellectual landscape? Do people tend to respect experts, or denigrate them as “elitists”? That's culture!

Which things are generally considered to be “high culture” or “low culture”? Which kinds of media and art are considered “for the masses” versus “for the elites”? That's culture!

How are politicians treated? Do people tend to respect them as their “betters”, their “leaders”? Or are they assumed to be lying, conniving, corrupt, the worst of society? What kind of thing would end a politician's career? That's culture!

What's considered more egregious behaviour - bothering other people, or asking someone to stop bothering other people? That's culture!

If you were attending a job interview, how would you want to come across? How would you be expected to dress and behave? Would it be better to come across as very bold and confident, or humble and subservient? That's culture!

If you found yourself in a tricky situation - say, broken down at the side of the road - would you confidently expect strangers to come and help you? Or would it seem really weird for some random person to come and involve themselves in your situation? That's culture!

How are you expected to communicate? Is it seen as rude to be very blunt and straightforward, or is it considered rude to beat around the bush and make allusions and try to soften what you're saying rather than quickly getting to the point? That's culture!

I could go on (boy could I go on). This is so not meant to be all-inclusive; this is just a tiny sample of the things that make up “culture”.

To put it bluntly, a lot of the time the word “culture” seems to be used to mean, essentially, “the things that make people of colour different from white people”. Oh, this guy eats this different kind of food; that's culture. This lady wears these clothes to a wedding; that's culture. But we white people, we don't have “culture”; we just do what's normal. But it's all culture! Everything! All of it! And culture isn't just the result of where in the world you come from - class, occupation, rural/urban location, minority status, political affiliation, all these things and more can result in cultural differences even within a small area. Multiple cultures often co-exist, blend, overlap, and borrow from one another within the same place, which is especially noticeable in places with legacies of migration. People bring different cultures from around the world, and these interact with the dominant culture in all sorts of interesting ways. But a culture being dominant doesn't mean that it ceases to be a culture.

Claiming that certain groups of people (generally, whoever is the dominant majority group in a particular context) “don't have culture” is just as dumb as when people claim they “don't have an accent” simply because their accent is the most common one where they live. There is no “default”, every deviation from which is “a culture” or “an accent”. Everyone has an accent. Every community, everywhere, has culture(s). If you aren't aware of your culture, or don't think you have an accent, you're probably just so used to being considered “default” and “normal” that it doesn't occur to you that no such thing actually exists.

[queeranarchism]

An important thing to note here is that in a settler colonialist context, like the US, the default culture doesn't just interact with other cultures, it also demands that they be erased.

It takes in British and French and German and Irish and Polish and Italian and Jewish immigrants (etc.), throws their culture into a blender and shapes the default culture (with the bits that are considered to come from the whitest of those in-groups forming the biggest chunks) AND it demands conformity to the new blender-culture at the expense of whatever culture the immigrants had.

White immigrant groups are not seen as 'American' simply because they display enough culture markers that are distinctly white-American. No, in order to qualify as American, they have to no longer display a set of culture markers that are distinctly other. If their habits or language etc. are too Irish, too Polish, to Italian.. then they are 'other' no matter how many markers of the dominant culture they express.

Of course, in order to not speak with an Irish, Polish or Italian accent, you must speak with the dominant accent. In order to appear to no longer be culturally other in any way, you must express the dominant culture in all things. So you are doing a lot of culture.

But because 'no longer recognizably a member of any other culture' is seen as the defining proof that someone has entered the dominant culture, you end up with a dominant culture that feels like it's not really a culture in a much more profound way than a dominant culture that doesn't exist in a settler-colonial context.

[ortiies]

Old mosaics that still feel kinda relevant to locals 🐟 Ever since @_leevolt_ came up with this amazing mosaic brush I wanted to use it for a ridiculously big fresco kind of illu

[desert-love]

Meep meep